


We Make Breakfast

by morbid_beauty



Category: My Chemical Romance, Reggie and the Full Effect
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-01
Updated: 2015-04-01
Packaged: 2018-03-20 16:41:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3657663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morbid_beauty/pseuds/morbid_beauty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Oh I came here to...to show you something,” James says. He gestures vaguely at the red curtain. A delectable smell beckons Frank’s nose and he sits up properly, sniffing the air. “We’re gonna make something,” says James.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“What is that?” Frank says, forgetting to care about whatever diseases that rooster might bring into his home. The scent is so enticing that he forgets everything else, intrigued by the curtain and curiosity peaked. He asks – with genuine interest – “What are you makin’?” and instantly everything changes with the drop of the curtain.</i>
</p><p>Or: the one where I wanted to write a crackfic based on <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aNwFwzyc-kQ">the song of the same name</a> so I did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Make Breakfast

**Author's Note:**

> Instead of a prank, here's a funny little fic! Happy April Fool's, everyone!

Something wakes Frank before he’s ready, which is not out of the ordinary for a married man with three kids, but something in the back of his mind says _rooster_ so he grabs the metaphorical rope and lets it pull him into wakefulness. He stretches his arms back; glances at the window, where small birds lined at the windowsill outside stare at him quizzically as they tweet. He stares back with mirrored confusion, his eyelids falling.

“Wake up, Fraaank!”

Frank startles slightly, half sitting up against the headboard and yawning loudly by way of accepting his fate as an awake person. When he looks up, his eyes shoot wide open. There’s James, standing by Frank’s bedside in a white t-shirt and boxers – or, pajamas – and holding a rooster.

“Oh,” Frank says. He looks at the rooster with concern for a moment, its emotionless blinking eyes more than disturbing, before smiling meekly at his friend. “James?”

“Good morning, Fraaank!” James says.

He looks well-rested and happy so that makes one person in the room that is. Next to Frank, Jamia rolls over and grumbles something barely audible about that spare key being only for emergencies. This is when Frank notices that there’s a red curtain where the door into his bedroom should be, that entire side of the room lost behind it.

“Hi, James,” Frank says. He rubs his eye sleepily. He’s too tired to deal with this like he should so he just smiles bemusedly. “What are you...doin’ here?”

“Oh I came here to...to show you something,” James says. He gestures vaguely at the red curtain. A delectable smell beckons Frank’s nose and he sits up properly, sniffing the air. “We’re gonna make something,” says James.

“What is that?” Frank says, forgetting to care about whatever diseases that rooster might bring into his home. The scent is so enticing that he forgets everything else, intrigued by the curtain and curiosity peaked. He asks – with genuine interest – “What are you makin’?” and instantly everything changes with the drop of the curtain.

“We make breakfast!” James sings passionately into a classic microphone, standing on the bed in between Frank and his wife.

James is supported by seemingly a full band, playing an upbeat tune in the kitchen. There are trumpet players sitting up on the counter; a keyboardist with his instrument on the island; a bassist by the wide-open, shining kitchen window; and a drummer sitting behind a set where Frank is pretty sure the dining table used to be. Jamia whines from under the covers in that barely-awake-so-leave-me-alone way she does, while Frank looks around wildly. The fact that his kitchen isn’t actually big enough to fit a full band _and_ his bed isn’t what’s getting to him; neither is the impromptu, passionate number about the early morning meal or the fact that James had solved the question of teleportation. What was making him freak out was seeing his old friend behind the piano and the drum set, on his bed and on the counter. All of them, every person with an instrument in his hands. They were carbon copies of James, most of them in tuxedos and shiny black shoes and with hair combed into a neat comb-over.

Singing James (original James?) is wearing Frank’s skeleton apron over his pajamas. “YEAH!” he yells, startling Frank yet again. He hops on the bed to the infectious beat and for a moment Frank is in Dad Mode and he’s ready to tell James to stop jumping but as the band decisively tunes the excitement down a bit for a verse, James is gone in the blink of an eye.

“Well I got bacon, you got eggs,” James says. Frank turns his head swiftly toward the voice and sees Original James standing by the open fridge in a chef’s hat. Holding up three packets of bacon and an open, half-empty carton of eggs, James continues singing. “Together we make breakfast!”

A second singing James harmonizes next to Jamia’s ear and she screams, turning to cling to Frank’s torso. Frank looks on with wide eyes, mouth open, as that delectable scent from a few seconds earlier wafts over.

“I got bacon, you got eggs,” says Original James sings, cracking some eggs onto a frying pan. Harmonizing James, who’s standing next to him in a full chef’s outfit, sings along for the next part, putting some bacon down on a skillet. “Together we make breakfast!”

A bass kicks in softly and the kitchen seems to have expanded. The trumpeters play a few notes while another suited James strums away at a bass. Frank could swear his kitchen is starting to resemble a stage. He looks around and realizes he is, in fact, on a stage; he can’t see behind him where the audience would be but there are bright lights pointed everywhere and his kitchen starts to look like that one scene from Grease: everything is impossibly white and shiny and improbable.

“Don’t try to say that lunch was the best time of day!” Apron and Harmonizing James frown at each other as them seem to disagree on the lyrics, their words getting muffled and jumbled.

“Because it’s breakfast...” The band kicks in again for the…chorus? The cooking James’s set a couple plates and mugs on a tray. The piano sounds a bit off and it’s very James.

“Breakfast…” They throw bread over their heads and it lands in a toaster, which one Trumpeter James gets ready with a push of the switch.

“ **Breakfast!** ”

A Screaming James comes in to match the off piano. Disco lights start to flash on every surface and the bed starts spinning, showing Frank and Jamia (who is finally, begrudgingly, watching) a different small scene with every turn.

“Because it’s breakfast…” Original James flips the eggs and bacon.

“Breakfast…” The toast pops out of the toaster Chef James catches it on a plate.

“ ** _Breakfaaaaaast!_** ” Screaming James pours coffee careless into the mugs, switching between them as the coffee falls, splashing both the counter top and himself.

A Guitar-Playing James appears rocking a solo with Frank’s guitar. Everything seems to be getting more intense.

“Breakfast, breakfast, breakfaaaaast!!!”

The vocalizing James’s continue their preparations while the instrument-playing James’s jump away from the countertops. The James’s are organized into a proper band formation and they put their entire bodies into their playing, rocking from side to side to the beat and nodding their heads along. 

“Because it’s breakfast, breakfast, **_BREAKFAAAAAAAAST_**!!!”

Behind the trumpeters, drummer, keyboardist, and guitarists, on a high platform, the vocalizing James’s carelessly pour sugar in the mugs, exaggeratedly swipe butter on the toast, and rip at a piece of bacon. They all have crazed looks in their eyes.

“Well I know what I used to say,” Original and Chef James sing, making their way around the musicians with trays. The musicians get closer to the bed, too, and Jamia clings tighter to Frank. “Lunch is the best time all day!”

The musicians play their final notes and, with a puff of smoke, everything is quit. They’re back in the bedroom. Original, and now the only, James stands at Frank’s side of the bed with his arms wide open, gasping for breaths, apron and chef’s hat still on. He’s flushed but he looks pleased with himself. Frank smiles bemusedly and James points at his lap. The meals that Frank and Jamia just watched get cooked were sitting in front of them in bed trays, with utensils and everything. There’s a stir from the baby monitor on the bedside table and they all look at it with fear. Cries come from it almost immediately and Frank and Jamia collectively sigh.

“You woke Miles,” Jamia says, sounding resigned.

“I’ll go get that!” James shouts. He seems to still have energy, then. “Happy Anniversary!” He runs out of the room and a few seconds later, they hear, “Hey, baby! Cry baby… Don’t cry, baby.”

Frank picks up his fork and starts eating. Jamia frowns for a moment and Frank only smiles at her. She sighs and takes a bit of the bacon once Miles stops crying.

“How did he do that?” Jamia asks as their utensils clink on their plates.

“I’ve learned not to ask questions,” Frank replies.

A piece of toast is halfway to his mouth when a vicious flap of wings alerts him and suddenly the rooster from earlier appears beside Jamia. She freezes, leaning away, and it looks down at her tray with that same dead-eyed curiosity as before. He leans down to pick at the food and the first thing he eats is the eggs.

“Oh, god...” Jamia says, covering her eyes. Frank laughs despite himself.

“Shoo!” Frank waves the rooster away and it flies off the bed, then out of the bedroom. Jamia throws the eggs on the floor.


End file.
